“Out of my face, dollar-store Gi Jane!” I snarl down at her. Kazumi and Sandra recoil in shock somewhere close to the cell walls. But I don’t care. I refuse to let this hateful woman bully me.
Carmen glares at me, practically shaking, contemplating her next move. She looks ready to use violence like some brutish man, rather than words. She might know Kung Fu or whatever. But I’m bigger. If she tries anything, I’ll sit on her.
The tension is thick, the light from the cell blinding. “You listen?” Kazumi chimes in, evaporating our awkward tension to mist. Carmen and I break our tense stand-off, turning our attention towards Kazumi—I’m for one glad of the interruption. “Noise like banging,” she suggests, her stare distant, straining to hear.
What the hell is happening now?
Exasperated, I hold my breath, wondering if Kazumi has super hearing. Initially, the only noise is our nervous breaths and shuffling feet. Then, far off into the distance, a dull clanging and banging almost inaudible reaches my ears.
“Wonderful,” I start, my tone sarcastic.
A spine-chilling scream echoes ominously through the darkness, making me wince. “What the fuck was that?” I ask, casting frantic glances around, seeing nothing.
“Something’s coming!” Sandra exclaims, sounding as frantic as my pounding heartbeat.
I’m trapped in a horror movie!
Chapter 9
Alexandra
Escape?
Mystomachsinksdeeperthan my bank balance after a shopping spree, and my heart hammers in my chest as I anticipate the source of the approaching footsteps. The oppressive darkness only amplifies my dread. Instinctively, I inch closer to Carmen—whether for the light or her fierce attitude, I can’t say.
“Maybe it’s just the mini-Dracoths again?” I murmur, more to soothe myself than the others.Yeah, that must be it. They’re probably just passing by, ignoring us again, no doubt.
“Shush!” Carmen whispers, somehow still able to make it seem like a cutting rebuke. She mutters more curses as she approaches the cell bars. I mourn the loss of the light but refuseto follow. Carmen can handle whatever’s coming while I hide in the corner—she knows Kung Fu after all.
The footsteps grow louder, but something’s off. They’re lighter than the mini-Dracoths’ and far more numerous. I swallow the lump in my throat and tug down the inadequate scrap of fabric that dares to call itself a skirt. Pervy Dracoth has me dressed like a Chanel-sponsored sex worker and God knows what’s heading our way.
At least it’s dark.
Suddenly, blinding blue lights flood the corridor, growing brighter with each frantic heartbeat.
Wonderful!
Carmen glances to the right, straining to see... something.
“Joder!” she cries, recoiling from the bars, her reaction sending my pulse skyrocketing. She fumbles desperately with the cell, her fingers shaking as she works the screen until the torch blinks out. But it’s too late.
They’re here.
The glowing blue reveals a gang of even poorer-looking aliens than our captors. I gasp, studying the bizarre assortment—each one stranger than the last. Some have pale, scaly skin with wicked pointed spikes on their heads. Others are furred with muzzled faces, sneering at us with predatory eyes. The larger ones have snouts and tusks jutting from their mouths. But the worst are the creepy, bug-like creatures, their eyes and antennae darting between us like they’re deciding what dessert to order at a restaurant.
They’re armed with menacing weapons—guns, I think, but they are weird shapes and colors. Some of the larger aliens wield bladed weapons, thick slabs of serrated, sharpened metal that seem torn from a scrap heap. Their dirty faces and ragged clothes make me shudder. Why are all the aliens so poor andunkempt? Where are all the rich aliens? If our captors are space hillbillies, these guys are space hobos.
I notice many of them wearing the same emblem on their tattered clothes. It’s hard to make out in the harsh blue light from their wrist devices. But it looks like a laughing alien female, clutching a swaddled alien baby. The image is strange, creepy—just like these intruders who fill me with a deep, gnawing sense of dread.
“Jackpot!” declares the scariest one of all, his deep, booming voice reverberating through the cell. A hulking figure with rows of razor-sharp teeth embedded in a bestial face and a large horn protruding from his head like a rhino. He leers at us, excitement obvious despite his alien features. “See Jacyasi? Told you this ship wasn’t abandoned,” he adds, stroking his monstrous pointed jaw with a huge, clawed hand.
If I could sink further into the corner, I would. These guys send shivers of terror through me—not just because of their alienness, but the openly predatory way their beady eyes size us up. I shrink under their leering gazes, suddenly feeling very exposed and underdressed.
“Are you space police?” Sandra mutters, her voice tinged with naïve hopefulness. I’ll eat my Chanel if these guys are any kind of police—more likely they’re enforcers of some space hobo gang. The idea of being whisked away by handsome, gleaming alien police from all this terror and... poorness is a wonderful fantasy.
“Jacyasi, get these bars open!” the horned one commands, gesturing towards one of the creepy bug-like aliens. It scuttles closer, its limbs a nightmarish combination of elongated fingers and serrated mantis-like blades. I could barf, watching it approach our cell—now a protective barrier separating us from the true horror on the other side.
The bug alien directs a glowing blue device towards the bars, its hands darting over a holographic console, like a skittering insect.
